


Not in the Name

by Thatkindghost



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Cooking, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 19:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15395763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindghost/pseuds/Thatkindghost
Summary: Donald tries to make breakfast and when that goes awry, the kids help him finish up.fluff with a hint of angst! Not over powering. meant to be a cute story with lots of fun sibling banter!





	Not in the Name

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @madducktor on twitter for beta reading!

Donald eyes the frying pan cautiously, aware of how rotten his luck had been when attempting to cook in the Mansions kitchen after the omelete incident- but even when life was hell bent on exploding hot egg yolk onto his clothes, Donald Duck refused to give up! And he wasn’t gonna start now, though he was smart enough to take the necessary precautions. Like a full body firesuit. And a welders mask. Could never be too careful, right? He’d gotten through many a breakfasts only slightly charred in this exact getup while the triplets were growing up, so he was sure that he could make some pancakes without the fire department coming to the manor for the fourth time that week.

So he had an assignment, and he had the proper protection, now it was finally time to-

“Mr. Duck!” Webby threw open the kitchen door with the same enthusiasm Webby threw open every door, which was usually way too much, “Are you trying to make breakfast again?”

Donald jumps about a foot in the air, throws the bowl of pancake mix up, and flings the spatula so hard it sticks out of the wall like a dart. The pancake batter, as it is still bound by some stupid law called gravity, drops out of the air like lead. He scrambles to catch it, juggling the bowl between his hands before latching onto it firmly, surprised for a second that he’d actually managed to save it.

He breathes a breath of relief and flips his welding mask up, glancing in the bowl to make sure the batter is alright… but the bowl is empty. It's actually scattered all across the ceiling, and the moment he looks up to check, a large part of it loses the fight against nature's law and hit him smack dab in the face.

“Oh, uh.” Webby shrinks into her shoulders, smiles sheepishly as Donald scrapes the concoction off his eyelids, “Sorry for startling you.”

The door to the kitchen doesn’t even have time to swing shut behind her before Huey basically kicks it open, brandishing a fire extinguisher as his brothers follow him, “What’s this about Uncle Donald making breakfast?” He demands, swinging his head around looking for the inevitable fire.

“At ease, Huey.” Donald grumbles, tossing the welding mask aside as he goes to the sink to get cleaned up, “I didn’t get far enough to turn on the stove.”

Huey relaxes automatically and Dewey shakes his head, “I swear you have that thing hidden under your hat!”

“A good Junior Woodchuck is always prepared!” Huey defends, hugging his fire extinguisher.

“Especially with Uncle Donald in the kitchen!” Louie points out.

“Hey now, no being mean to your uncle!” Donald chides, though there's no real heat behind it, “Or I won’t make pancakes!”

“Pancakes!?” Dewey gasps, “Quick! Everyone insult Uncle Donald!”

Webby opens her mouth to comply but Huey is faster, clamping his hand over her mouth to stop that trainwreck from coming to fruition, “Hardy har Dewey, I think it’s nice!”

Shoving his hands in his pocket Louie shrugged, “If you think eating charcoal is fun.”

“They don’t taste that bad!” Donald defends. The boys give him a very specific look, which Webby imitates once she notices, and he relents, “Okay maybe they are, but Uncle Scrooge has the good syrup, you can just drown em’ out and they’ll taste fine.”

“Why would Uncle Scrooge spend extra on the good syrup?” Huey asked.

“That’s our next big mystery!” Dewey announced, puffing out his chest, “The Mystery of McDuck’s Pantry! And it’s up to us to solve it!”

Huey makes a face and jumps away, finally freeing Webby from his gasp, “Did you just lick my hand?” He yelps, running over to the sink so wash off the offending saliva.

“He didn’t buy the syrup, it was a gift from Glomgold.” she informs them with a smile.

Louie picks up the bottle, which is glowing bright green, “So it’s definitely poisoned, right? Right.” He drops it into the trash.

“Mystery Solved!” Dewey pumps his fist, “Another win for the McDuck Mystery Dream Team!”

Drying his hands on the towel, Huey glances back at him, “Is that what you’re calling us?”

Dewey nods, “Every great team has had a great name to go with it: the A-Team, Mystery Incorporated, Big Time Rush-”

“So, no pancakes then?” Louie interrupts.

“Oh no, there is still going to be pancakes.” Donald pulls out a new bowl, despite the horror on the kids’ faces, “But don’t worry, they’ll taste good this time! I’m using a recipe.”

“Last time he used a recipe, he misread it and put forty eggs into one box of cake mix.” Louie informs Webby forebodingly.

“They were just a little spongy!” Donald defends, despite grimacing at the memory.

“Well, don’t worry Mr. Duck!” Webby beams, “Granny and I make pancakes all the time, I’ll help!”

“Hey, I won't have anyone beating me out of favorite triplet!” Dewey gasps, scrambling to snatch the bowl out of his Uncle's hand “I’ll help too!”

Huey looks at Louie. Louis looks back, a silent battle. Oldest against youngest. A tale as old as time. Huey crosses his arms and Louie sighs loudly, “Fine, I’ll help too.”

“And you can always count on me when it comes to baking!” Huey chirps, pulling open the cupboard, “I’ll get the measuring cups!”

Donald sighs, relenting to his kids and regulating himself to watchful eyes as Webby and Huey argue almost politely over measurements- Huey wants to be exact, and Webby insists a ‘handful’ is a valid system of measurement.

It’s only once they get to the oven that Donald takes the reigns himself, armed once more in his protective gear and the spatula he managed to pry from the wall. Webby watches him like a hawk, somehow managing to backseat drive pancake flipping, and he only burns half of them- he doesn’t even set off the smoke alarm! Score!

He shooes the kids to the dining room, bringing out a couple of plates and the pile of pancakes to serve up. He mostly lets the kids help themself, waiting for them to get as much as they wanted before diving in himself. They’re all actually eating them rather than asking Donald for a cup of milk and scraping their plates into the house plants. Yes, Donald knew about that- who did they think took care of the philodendron Gladstone had given them? He picked out more pieces of broccoli from that pot than he was sure he’d ever even made.

“Thanks for breakfast, Mr. Duck!”

Donald waves his hand, they’d done most of the heavy lifting anyway.

“Yeah, thanks Dad.” it’s an offhand comment, Dewey doesn’t even look up from his fork when he says it, and Donald feels immeasurably warm.

Its a brief emotion, the flicker of joy spreading from his heart all the way to his fingertips, and in these situations it’s almost always overcome a second later by guilt. He wasn’t their parent, Della was, and it felt wrong for the triplets to say anything other than Uncle. Well, truthfully, it felt really amazing and made him sort of want to cry, but he didn’t feel like he could take the title while Della never could. When they had been in kindergarten, and had started picking up new words from their peers, he’d been careful to curb that habit from the beginning- though sometimes, even now, they’d slip up without thinking.

The room goes very quiet, and Webby fidgets with her fork, picking up on the awkwardness from her friends.

Dewey stops eating, frowning, “What? Is there pancake in my teeth or something?”

“You said Dad again.” Donald tells him gently. He’d like to sweep this under the rug and pretend he didn't even hear it, but Huey and Louie’s awkward silence made it impossible to ignore it without confusing Dewey completely.

“Oh,” Dewey blinked, “Sorry, Uncle Donald, slip of the tongue” He says, smiling sheepishly and obviously a little embarrassed. He was normally unapologetic and confident, but this was always something that made Dewey- made all of them- a little awkward.

“He doesn’t like when we call him Dad” Dewey stage whispers to Webby.

Huey shrugs, “He prefers Uncle.”

“Why?” Webby blurts without thinking, going wide eyed, “Uh, I mean, you don't have to answer that-” She grabs Huey's hand and slaps it over her beak.

“Because that's what I am.” Donald points out, obviously, not mentioning the semi-emotional turmoil he’s wracked with whenever they say dad- or, in one notable example, Pop.

“And he doesn’t need us to call him Dad to know that's what he is.” Louie says around his glass of milk.

Huey shrieks, yanking his hand out of Webbys grip, “Did you just lick my hand!?” He squawks, “You were the one holding it there!”

“Mr. Duck, are you okay?” Webby asks, ignoring Huey, “You look like you’re going to cry.”

“I’m fine- I just,” Donald wipes at his eyes, “I must still have some cake batter in my eyes.”

“Ugh Uncle Donald, don’t make this all mushy!” Louie’s eyes start to water, “If you start i’ll start!”

Dewey stands up abruptly, chair scraping across the floor, “That’s it! No one is crying! The McDuck Mystery Dream Team is not known for our crying, we’re known for out tenacity and sweet matching capes!”

“We have matching capes?” Huey asks, wiping his hand on the table cloth.

“We will on tuesday when the mail comes!” Dewey whooped, jumping down off his chair and launching into an explanation of how the bright blue would make them all look very cohesive- and it would make it obvious how Dewey was, of course, their brave and courageous and very cool leader.

“Do you need help cleaning up, Mr. Duck?” Webby asks, sliding off her chair.

“I’m alright, Webby. Why don’t you go join the boys?” She turns to go about Donald reaches out and stops her, “And Webby,” He says, resting a hand on her shoulder, “Huey’s right, I’d prefer if you called me Uncle Donald.”

Her eyes go wide and awestruck, “You mean I get to call THE Donald Duck… Uncle?” She gasps, hands cupping her cheeks.

“If you want.” He nods, moving to gather the plates.

“This is the best day of my life,” She tells him seriously and he laughs a little, smiling as she scampers out after the boys, “Bye Uncle Donald! See you later Uncle Donald!” she calls, smiling widely around the words.

Webbys a good kid, definitely interesting, and a perfect addition to the family. She truly is a unique and sweet girl, and Donald hoped the boys were being nice enough to her. He knew what it was like being the odd one out, so he felt a sort of kindred spirit in Webby. He gathers up the rest of the dirty kitchenware and takes them to the kitchen, cleaning up quickly- maybe he could do some much needed work on the houseboat-

Something wet hits him on the beak before he can escape out the door and he glances up- oh yeah. Right. Pancake batter on the ceiling.

He was going to need a ladder.


End file.
